No Trade, No Crime, Only Fraud
by Sushi Chi
Summary: The Winchester boys come across an old friend on their latest hunt. Sequel to 'No Sale, No Sin, All Lies'


**Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognized in this story. Though there are a few things I'd like to own, I don't. It's sad. 'Cept if you read the one that goes before this (which I'm sure you did as this is a sequel) I own Paul Murphy. I'd rather own Dean, but that's life for you, huh?  
A/N: The television show mentioned here in the beginning - I do not watch it. So, yeah. Just going with how I think it would be. Though I could do some research and watch some of it before I write this. But I'm too lazy. Set in late season two.  
Many thanks to my beta Amarintha. She was a lot of help.**

The man sat down in his chair and turned on the television. As he opened his can of beer he didn't both changing the station, might was well just watch what was on this one. He took a sip as the host of the show started talking about someone else.

"America's Most Wanted is helping the FBI try and catch a killer on the run. His name is Dean Winchester-" The man coughed on the drink he was taking, spilling beer all over himself. He quickly started listening again, "-accounts of murder, breaking and entering, grave desecration, credit card fraud, and impersonating officers of law. He had recently been in prison, but broke out. This man is considered very dangerous. If you see him call the police and stay calm. Do not let him know you called for help."

The man was in shock. He had hoped that Sam would have kept Dean sane. Had something happened to Sam? Or did Dean give into his rage?

"-Dean Winchester travels around with his brother, Sam Winchester. Sam is an accomplice. And-" Okay, so Sam was still there. The man wondered what exactly happened. Last he knew, Dean was a fine young man. After the incident at the school, the man had kept an ear open for the family. Just to keep tabs. He still wasn't sure if John had abused his boys. The evidence said he did, but the way the family acted said otherwise. He sighed and blinked at the television. He had never seen them again. His investigation into the family never got any farther. Simply because he had not heard any news on the Winchesters. Though he hadn't heard anything bad either.

The man's brow furrowed as the television started getting static on it. The lights started blinking in and out. He got up and thought he should check the fuse box or something. Putting his beer down he made his way into the hallway and down into his basement. Grabbing the flashlight he could tell that the fuse for the living room was fine. Nothing to explain what was going on. He shrugged and trudged back upstairs. Scratching the back of his head, he put the flashlight back. Weird. Maybe some mice got into the wiring. That would not be fun at all. Or maybe-

The man's thoughts left his head instantly as his door was kicked open and a gun was pointed at his face, making his heart rate rise rapidly. He was being robbed. Swallowing dryly he held up his hands.

"Get down!" The man with the gun yelled. So, he ducked and turned, seeing something that would give him nightmares for months.

Behind him was a man with sunken in eyes and blood coming down the side of his face. His skin was as white as paper with blue veins rushing around his face. The man's eyes burned like cigarettes and in his hand gleamed a candlestick. He was very thin and agile looking. His clothes were torn and blood stained, with gaping holes that showed the man's intestines.

The man who was now on the floor crawled away from the pale one when he heard a blast from the gun just as the pale one disappeared. The man just sat on the floor and gaped, panting, his brain was going so very fast and yet so horrifically slow.

"Serves you right, bitch."

Then the man remembered the others who broke into his home. He stood up suddenly, wanting answers. He glanced at the one with the gun in the dim light. He looked familiar. Oh, God. No. This is was bad. Might be worse than the pale one. The man quickly backed away.

"Hope he doesn't come back soon. I forgot to grab extra rock salt for the gun."

Rolling his eyes, the other man sighed, "I grabbed some."

A grin, "I knew I let you stay here for a reason."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

The man swallowed, "Dean?"

Dean looked at him. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion, then a smirk spread across his face, "Paul? Paul Murphy?" He chuckled, "Funny seeing you here."

The other's face lit up, "I knew the name Paul Murphy sounded familiar. Nice seeing you again."

Murphy had no idea what to say. The FBI was after Dean. And Dean was in his house. He had to call the cops. But he was sure that Dean wouldn't let him do that. He glanced back at the television in the other room.

Dean followed his gaze and saw America's Most Wanted was talking about him, "Shit. Sammy, look."

"I've actually been expecting this to happen. We did just escape from prison," Sam pointed out.

Murphy was shocked to see that Dean appeared to be sulking, "Yeah, well. I didn't think this'd happen."

Murphy started backing away, knowing he had to escape to safety. Then the lights started flickering again. His breath got caught in his throat as Dean got the gun up at the ready. His eyes going about the room. Murphy cried out as the gun was shot again. He glanced at the area where the shot landed, seeing the pale man disappear again. What the hell was going on?

"I think we should get out of here. It doesn't take him long to come back. We should do some more research." Sam said, before catching Murphy's eyes, "You need to come with us."

Murphy really didn't want to come with them. But Dean had a gun. And Murphy knew that you did not disagree with crazy people who had guns. So, he followed them out of the house into the cool night air.

"What are you going to do with me?" He asked quietly, going to run for his life when he got the chance.

Dean turned and had a questioning look on his face, "What do you mean? We just saved your sorry ass. We're trying to save you from that spirit."

"Dean," Sam started, "Paul just saw us on America's Most Wanted."

"Oh, right. Sorry, Paul. Forgot." Dean shrugged, dismissing the fact yet again, "I'm kinda hungry. Feel like a burger with extra onions. Or chili fries. Oh! And pie."

Murphy watched as Sam rolled his eyes, "Well this is going very well," he said sarcastically, ignoring his brother's comments on food.

"Hey Paul," Dean started, glancing at him, "You can't really go back into your house until we kill the fugly."

Murphy felt his body tense as Dean muttered the word 'kill'. He swallowed, sure he looked worried and scared. Which may not be the best way to look around a murderer. "O-Okay." Just agree with the crazy guy with the gun and everything will be alright.

Well, the television had said that Sam was the more sane and normal one, so Murphy shot a pleading gaze over to him.

Sam saw the look in Murphy's eyes and sighed, "Dean. Paul is freaked."

"No shit. I would be too if some fugly just tried to kill me with a candle stick." Dean said, as if it was obvious.

Sam sighed again, "No, Dean. He is scared of us."

Realization hit Dean's face, "Hate that Shape Shifter."

The two brothers seemed to have a conversation the way only siblings can. They seemed to have some sort of fight, which actually put a slight smile on Murphy's face. Acting childishly, Dean finally gave in before he smiled and turned on Murphy. He was now afraid that they decided to kill him. He licked his lips, awaiting to see what going to happen.

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it. Thinking over his thoughts. Opening it again he said, "No worries, Paul. I won't kill you."

"I wouldn't even believe that." Sam said.

Dean shot at glare at Sam who just raised an eyebrow back, "You always were skeptic. That's why you're Scully. She's the skeptic."

Right then Murphy felt a chill go down his back, he turned and saw the pale one standing right beside him. Candle stick raised and blood pouring everywhere from him. Murphy was frozen in fear. If one murderer wasn't going to kill him than the other one would. He watched as the candlestick started to swing down towards his face when suddenly he felt like he had been hit by a semi. He fell to the unforgiving ground and watched as Dean stood in his place, getting hit in the back. He stumbled and turned.

But the pale one just raised the weapon again, hitting Dean across the face as Dean got his gun out. Shooting the pale one as the candlestick hit yet again. After the pale one disappeared Murphy noticed how Dean was panting and bleeding.

Sam rushed up to his brother, "Dean? Are you alright? Look at me, Dean. I need to check for a concussion. He hit you on the head twice."

Dean was pushing Sam away and muttering, "M'Fine. Sam. I'm Fine. Sammy. G'off. I'm fine." When he finally got Sam to stop messing with him, Dean turned towards Murphy, "You alright? Didn't get too hurt did'ja?"

Murphy was amazed at how worried Dean was about him. How Dean put himself on the line to save him. He remembered how in the past Dean had put himself on the line for Sam's class. He was very confused now. Dean had put himself on the line for an almost complete stranger. And as of so far Dean hadn't tried to hurt him. Sam either. They were saving him from the pale one. Who would disappear. . .What was going on?

Murphy noticed Dean was still watching him, awaiting an answer. He cleared his throat, "I'm fine." He paused, "What the hell is going on?"

"What is going on," Sam started, "Is there are been multiple shots from a gun and your neighbors have probably called the cops. We need to get out of here."

"Oh, right." Dean said, slowly getting up, "Can't get arrested. We just got the FBI off our backs."

"Like we were saying before, Paul," Sam said, helping Murphy up, "Is that you really should not be in your house right now. Or on your front lawn," at this point Sam's eyes flashed over the vast area, looking for the pale one, "So unless you know someone you can stay with right now, you should come back with us to the hotel. Sleep there tonight."

Thinking it over, Sam's words did seem fairly reasonable. Besides, the pale man had attacked him twice now, on his own property, so it probably wasn't the safest place to be. And he didn't really know anyone very well yet - he had recently moved in and hadn't made friends so far. He nodded to the brothers, "I guess I'll be coming to the hotel with you." He was still wary of them. After all the FBI was looking for them. But he felt more safe with them than if he was alone right now.

As Murphy and Sam started walking towards the Impala, Dean turned one last time to make sure the pale one wasn't there and very suddenly found himself staring at the sky with his back against the cold grass that tickled his neck.

Sam ran up to his older brother, "Dean!"

Dean smiled when Sam's face popped into view, "Hey Sammy." His brow furrowed for a second, "When did'ja get in the sky?"

Murphy walked over and bent down next to the fallen Winchester, "He alright?"

Sam muttered something while lifting Dean's eyelids, "You've got a concussion." He said angrily.

"Huh. Now I know why the world is dancing a jig." Dean muttered, sitting up slowly. He then looked at Sam, "I'm fine. Are you okay?"

Sam sighed deeply, "I'm fine. I'm not hurt at all, you idiot."

"Bitch." Dean raised an eyebrow as he got up by himself, "Alright. Let's get back to the hotel. Regroup and sleep."

The three of them walked towards the Impala and about a yard in front of it, Sam stepped in Dean's way, causing Dean to almost fall over backwards again.

"Give me the keys, Dean." Sam ordered.

Murphy watched in amusement as Dean glared at his brother, "You ain't gonna drive my baby."

"And you aren't going to drive with a concussion." Sam said, giving Dean his 'I'll-Stand-Here-Forever-And-You-Can't-Stop-Me-So-You'd-Better-Do-As-I-Say' face. And so Dean promptly handed over the key grumbling as he got into the passenger seat.

Murphy got in the back. His mind moving so fast with jumbled thoughts. He did feel safer with them around, but he wasn't sure if it was safe to go to their hotel with them. Dean was a murderer. Wasn't he? He spoke of killing the pale one. But then the pale one was something else. Not human. Murphy was pretty sure about that. But then what was he? What was going on?

Murphy looked out his window and watched as some police cruisers rushed past the car towards his home.

"Open your eyes, Dean," Sam said forcefully.

"They are open," Dean muttered quietly.

"If they were open I wouldn't have told you to open them," Sam glanced at his brother, "Open Your Eyes!"

Murphy jumped at the sudden yelling as did Dean. "Yeesh. Don't get your panties in a twist."

"Paul, will you do me a favor?" Sam asked, "Make sure Dean doesn't go to sleep. I've gotta watch out for cops, so I can't keep checking on him."

"I don't need anyone to watch me. M'fine," Dean stated, slurring slightly. Sam just snorted in response.

"Sure," Murphy said, "I'll keep him awake."

"Thanks," Sam smiled.

After a length Murphy thought it was time to check on Dean, "Hey, Dean." He got a grunt in response, "Wanna tell me what the hell is going on?" He thought that if he got the older brother into a conversation it'd keep him awake and alert.

Dean's brow furrowed as he opened his eyes, "Whaddaya mean?"

"What is going on at my house and why haven't you tried to kill me yet? The way the news was talking was that you'd kill anyone who stood in your way. Now, I'm thinking that I am in your way as I recognized you." He swallowed dryly, hoping he wasn't pushing his luck.

Dean turned around and looked at Murphy, and once the world decided to stop swimming he started, "First off, I haven't murdered anyone. Fucking Skin Walker framed me. So don't go around thinking I'm gonna kill you. You aren't the type of thing I hunt."

Hunt? Murphy wondered what he was talking about. Shape Shifter? Sounded like someone who walked around in other people's skin. So, like a Dean Double?

Dean took a breath and continued, "And at your house? Fugly ass spirit. That's the type of thing I hunt. Evil son's of bitches."

"Spirit?" Murphy asked, not believing, "A ghost? Ghosts are not real, Dean." Must be a crazy killer. Thinks he is killing spirits instead of people.

Dean grinned and chuckled dryly, "Sure they are. Did you not notice that the guy at your house was already dead? Gunshot in the head and innards falling out? Not to mention I kept shooting him and he'd just come back."

Murphy leaned back in his seat and thought about that. It did seem very possible. But they weren't real. He didn't know what to think. And all too soon for him they were at the hotel.

The next morning Murphy still had no idea what to make of any of the previous night's events or something like that. But he had thought about it all night, and discovered that ghosts were real, and he accepted that. And that Dean and Sam saved him from one. He still wasn't sure about Dean not killing people. It was apparent that Dean probably killed the ghosts, but what if he had accidentally killed a person before? Didn't really matter, Murphy had decided to trust the boys.

But where should he go next? Could he go back to his house? Should he never go back? Go get breakfast? Or see what the brothers were going to do. He settled for that last one.

He walked over during the stiff morning air and knocked. Before he new it Sam had opened the door and let him in, "You should be really glad Dean is in the shower." Dean's in the shower

"Why?" Murphy asked, looking around the room. It was a mess. Clothes strewn every which way and books and laptop left where they were dropped.

"He is kinda paranoid," Sam said, getting himself some coffee, "Want some?"

"God yes," Dean said as he opened the bathroom door, "And I'm not paranoid. I'm careful." He came out in just jeans, hair still wet and towel around his shoulders.

Dean grabbed a cup and then was promptly smacked lightly on the back of the head by Sam as if he were a misbehaving child.

"What the hell was that for?" Dean asked, staring at his brother.

"A few things actually," Sam said, "First, Paul is our guest and he gets coffee before you. And second," at this point, Sam smacked him lightly again, "For being stupid last night and getting a concussion."

"What? Was I supposed to let Paul get killed?" Dean asked, taking a drink of his coffee.

"Well. No. But you could have done something else," Sam said defensively.

"Like what?" Dean raised a challenging eyebrow. After a short length of time he grinned, "Oh yeah. I won."

Sam just rolled his eyes and moved towards his laptop, "I've done some more research and I'm pretty sure our spirit is Hayden Hayes."

"Hayden Hayes? Really?" Dean asked, smirk on his face, "Bet'cha he got made fun of as a kid."

"Which might explain why when he was 31 he snapped and killed a bunch of people." Sam paused and grinned slightly, "I think it was Hayden Hayes after Mrs. White in the Kitchen with the Candlestick."

Murphy shared the grin with Sam but saw Dean's brow crease, "What the hell are you saying?"

"Clue." Sam said, shrugging. He had thought it was obvious.

"What?" Dean asked, still confused.

Sam's eyes widened, "You've never played the game Clue?"

"Uh. No," Dean said, getting himself another cup of coffee.

Sam just shook his head slightly and continued, "Hayes murdered his family with a candlestick."

"So, where is this sucker buried?" Dean asked.

Sam shrugged, "Didn't say. You want to try and find out? I'm gonna take a quick shower. Hope you left some hot water."

"I can't do research," Dean whined as Sam started towards the bathroom.

Sam turned quickly, on a dime, "What do you mean you can't do research?" his face full of anger.

Dean gave his best innocent face, "Sammy, I had a concussion last night. Looking at tiny lettering will give me a headache."

Sam's glare deepened, "That's a lame ass excuse, Dean."

Dean grinned, "But it is still an excuse that will work." He sing-songed.

"I-I can try and find out," Murphy spoke up. The two brother's eyes shot towards him, "I want to help."

Sam shrugged, "Sure. We just need to find out where he's buried."

By the time Sam was done, Murphy had found out there Hayes was buried. Or rather, not buried. "He was cremated."

Sam closed his eyes and sighed deeply. While annoyance flashed in Dean's eyes, "Well that puts a damper on things." He muttered.

"What? Why?" Murphy asked, watching the two brothers.

"If there is no body we can't simply salt and burn its bones." Dean said, frustration sizzling in his voice.

"So, what do you think is keeping him here?" Sam asked quietly.

"I've no idea." Dean said, pulling a shirt on.

Murphy thought about it for a bit. Okay, so apparently something was keeping this Hayes around. But what could that be? Something close to Hayes probably. A favorite shirt? The pillow he had on his bed? What could it be?

His brain seemed to suddenly work in overdrive. Remembering a few small but important details. He pictured Hayes in his mind, then he thought about his newly purchased house. There was one thing in common, "The candlestick." He said quietly

"What?" Sam asked, "Did you think of something?"

Murphy nodded, "That candlestick he had in his hand. I found it in the attic the other day and I put it in my living room."

"You sure it's the same one?" Dean asked, leaning closer, his necklace falling out from behind his shirt.

Murphy nodded, "Yes. It is. I'm sure of it."

Dean smiled and nodded, "Alright. This'll be a piece of cake."

"Just don't get concussed again," Sam muttered, putting a few of their possessions away. He sighed as he stood up, "Alright. Time to make a plan."

As night fell they drove back to Murphy's house. The plan was simple. The brothers would go in and get the candlestick. Murphy told them where he left it, so he didn't even need to go inside. They then would burn the candlestick. Seemed like an easy plan, though with Winchester luck, it was never as easy as planned.

So, when night came, Murphy was sitting inside the Impala. He watched his house as the Winchester boys went in, guns at the ready. Murphy shook his head. If someone told him yesterday that he had a haunted candlestick and people wanted by the FBI were going to help him get rid of the ghost, he would have laughed in their face. He thought back to the first time he met the boys.

Sam's class was being held up by gun point, by a guy with black eyes. And then afterwards, his eyes were a normal color. He chewed on his lip, thinking. How long have they 'hunted' these spirits? Did they do it when they were kids? That would explain why Dean was so beat up. He wasn't being abused by his father, he was saving people. Murphy saw first hand that Dean was willing to jump in the line of fire to save people, so that must be it. It all clicked in Murphy's head. John never hit his kids. He just took them hunting.

Murphy wondered if it was justified. John had put his kids in harm's way. Dean got hurt. A lot. But, they were saving people. Murphy had mixed thoughts on the idea.

He shot his eyes towards his house as a body came flying out of his window.

Murphy jumped out of the Impala and rushed towards the body. He knew who it was right away. Sam. He bent down next to the younger hunter, "Sam? Open your eyes for me."

Sam muttered something and shook his head, "Dean?" He opened his eyes, "Where's Dean? Paul?"

Murphy looked into the house and heard a gunshot, "He must be inside still."

Sam blasted upright, "Gotta help him."

Murphy nodded, "I'm coming with you."

Sam stopped in his tracks and turned on a dime, "No. You'll get hurt."  
"But you both are getting hurt." Murphy stood right in front of the younger man, "And I am going to help. I cannot stand by as you guys fight Hayes for me."  
Sam sighed, "Fine. I'll distract him while you get the candlestick."

They ran inside the house, searching for Dean, Hayes, and the candlestick. Dean was easy to find. He was reloading his gun. Blood running down his face, muttering something. He had heard footsteps come towards him, so the gun was stood aimed at Sam and Murphy.

"Hey, Dean," Sam said, hands up, "Just us."

Dean lowered the gun, "I can see that, Sam. No need to tell me that."

"Alright. We'll distract Hayes while you grab the candlestick," Sam said, locking eyes with Dean, stating that this was the revised plan and they were going to stick to it.

Dean grinned wolfishly, "Tha'll be easy. Sam, why don't you attract attention to your neck and I'll ask 'em to throw me up against something."

This received a well placed glare from Sam, "Dude, that's not funny."

Dean grinned in response, "It so was"

Murphy in the mean time was busy getting the candlestick. The lights were off in his house, but he knew his way around. Thankfully. Making the way to the room in which Hayes' weapon of choice was located. Walking towards the small table, Murphy felt the hackles on the back of his neck jump. He turned around only to see Hayes standing just an inch away.

Murphy started backing up, his voice hidden. He couldn't take his eyes off the spirit before him. He had to do something. He had learned that salt and iron did wonders against spirits, but he didn't have any salt or iron. He swallowed dryly as he found his lost voice, "Need some Help!" He heard running footsteps rushing towards him.

"Duck!"

So, Murphy did as he was told and fell to the floor just in time. Hayes disappeared and he stood up quickly, giving a small grin towards Dean. Murphy quickly grabbed the candle stick and held it triumphantly towards the elder brother. Just then, Murphy was hit with a force of a brick wall, sending him flying.

Hayes was back and was chuckling, glaring at Murphy. But Hayes' attention was soon diverted.

"Come and get me, Bitch!" Dean cocked the shotgun and had it aimed directly at the spirit.

Murphy took this opportunity to get the candlestick out, so he ran from the room, wincing as he got up. He quickly ran out of the room, plowing into the six foot four frame of Sam, "I've got it," he said, to which Sam nodded.

The two started running out of the house. Figuring that Hayes was distracted right now, by Dean, and they could get rid of the candlestick.

So, as Sam started a fire Murphy threw the candlestick in. It took a bit for the object to start to burn, but luckily, it started melting, in which both men breathed a sigh of relief.

Meanwhile, Dean had been battling one pissed off spirit who did not want to say farewell quite yet. He groaned as a chair hit him in the head, staggering back, Dean fell over a turned over end table. "Son ova Bitch!" Shaking his head, Dean got up, "You're going down, asshole."

Hayes disappeared with a shot of the gun, but he was a pesky bastard and came back soon after. So, Dean raised his gun again, only to find out that he was out of rock salt. Cursing, he started looking around for something he could use, like iron. And while Dean was looking for the iron, he was trying to not get hit by flying objects or a ghostly candlestick, which was a feat in and of itself. Thankfully, in the nick of time, Hayes burned up. Dean grinned and made his way out of the house.

Sam and Murphy could hear the sirens in the background, the neighbors called the police after hearing gunshots, just as they had the night before. "Dean!" Sam yelled as his brother came into view, "Police are on their way."

Dean nodded, "Lets get going." He turned towards Murphy, "See ya around, Paul."

"Wait!" Murphy yelled, "What am I going to tell the cops?"

Dean grinned, "Say you were being haunted by a murderous ghost."

"Or you could say that you were being robbed, and you got the shotgun away from the robbers and scared them off." Sam said, "So that the police don't not think you sound crazy. Of course."

"Of course." Murphy agreed. He had one hell of night. Two nights actually. From finding out that Dean and Sam were killers and wanted by the FBI all the way to finding out that he was being haunted via candlestick. He couldn't believe that his life had changed so much in only a span of 48 hours. Murphy watched the Impala peel away into the night as the police showed up, the bright red and blue lights contrasting with the diminishing fire in his front yard.


End file.
